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BUNKHOUSE SATURDAY NIGHT

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I met a neat old cowboy turned writer a year or so back, Glen Vernam, originally from Montana, born in 1896 and still very active – a nicer old guy you never met. He lives just up a canyon out of Joseph, Oregon. Glen's got one of the prettiest little places in the West, with the Wallowa mountains all around. Once I was over there in late April and they looked like the Swiss Alps.

The first time I was snooping around Glen's museum, I noticed a picture of him sitting on a step out in front of a bunkhouse. This was about 1916 or thereabouts. He was pickin’ away at a banjo and appeared to be "feeling no pain.” I got so tickled by the picture I thought it would translate into a good print.